


speak easy

by firebrands



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drinking & Talking, Drunken Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25426561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firebrands/pseuds/firebrands
Summary: It was a normal Tuesday between the two of them, stressed and under duress and Tony needing a drink. Tony had escaped his office to work with Steve, using the excuse that a change of scenery made him more productive.Steve was just happy to spend time with Tony, really.*a big thank you to emily and jaz for looking through this for me! :)fill for mystony bingoprompt:this comic book cover
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 9
Kudos: 121
Collections: Captain America/Iron Man Bingo





	speak easy

It was a normal Tuesday between the two of them, stressed and under duress and Tony needing a drink. Tony had escaped his office to work with Steve, using the excuse that a change of scenery made him more productive.

Steve was just happy to spend time with Tony, really.

“I need a drink,” Tony said over their laptops.The sun was beginning to set outside the cafe they frequented when they needed to get work done.

“Okay,” Steve said. “I think I’ll join you.”

Tony looked up from typing on his laptop, surprised. “Really?”

“I mean, once in a while is okay,” Steve said, nonchalant.

A slow smile spread over Tony’s lips, and he pulled out his phone to type out of a text. “Great. Wonderful. There’s this place I think you’ll love.”

* * *

They’re two drinks in before their dinner arrives, and Tony’s eyes are half-lidded with the beginnings of intoxication. Steve is along the same route.

“Jeez,” Steve says, scrubbing his face with his hand. “It’s been a while.”

Tony makes a small noise of understanding, digging into his steak.

The bar is dark, all leather and wood, with paraphernalia from the 20s strewn about. They even have lamps that look to be from that period, but tables are candle-lit. Over the speakers comes muted tinkles of jazz.

“They’re really leaning into the speakeasy atmosphere, aren’t they,” Steve says, sipping his drink.

“One hundred percent,” Tony says, settling back into the chair and sighing, cheeks pink with a pleasant buzz.

They don’t talk about work, about the little amount of sleep they’d had over the past few days, about how much they both just needed to take a breather, even if only a few hours.

When they’re done, they step outside of the bar and Tony lights a cigarette. “Where to next?” He asks.

“My place is just a few blocks down,” Steve says, eyes opening and closing too slowly.

“Oh, yeah, you’re right,” Tony says, orienting himself by looking up at the buildings around them.

They begin walking unsteadily towards Steve’s apartment, Tony’s hands occasionally holding on to Steve’s arm to keep steady.

They’re quiet, tonight. Tired, drunk, ready to lie down. They say nothing as they lean against each other and wait for the elevator to bring them up to Steve’s room.

* * *

Tony kicks off his shoes when they get to Steve’s apartment—he’s used to house rules by now, and plops down on Steve’s sofa as Steve bends down to unlace his shoes. Steve is setting them aside properly in their assigned space on the rack when Tony makes a small, pleased sound. Steve looks up to see him holding up a small ziplock bag.

“Oh, Tony, I don’t think—”

“Just one,” Tony grins, tapping some weed onto rolling paper. “Come on, we should unwind. There’s still so much week left in this week,” he says, rolling for a bit more before licking the joint closed.

Steve, after all these years, knows when to choose his battles.

They move toward Steve’s balcony and Tony lights up, taking a long drag before passing the joint to Steve. Steve wonders idly if Tony just has drugs on his person at all times, but wouldn’t put it past him; after all, he’s Tony Stark. Even after all this time, it’s still a marvel to him that they’re friends—that they could be more than that, if one of them decided to finally make a move.

They’d met at a charity auction by chance, Tony had won the bid on Steve’s art.

“The first one that actually caught my eye,” Tony said.

“You bought a Monet,” Steve responded, unimpressed by the come-on.

Tony blinked at him. “Yeah, and?”

Steve couldn’t help but be charmed, and that’s how it started—coffee and dinner, whenever they were free and Tony didn’t have plans with his then-girlfriend, Jan. Steve still kept his full-time job, even if Tony bought enough of his art to pay his rent for the year, but they started as friends. Steve didn’t know how to make them more than that—it feels like that ship has set sail.

Tony flicks the roach into the air, watching as it floats down into the empty alley in the back of Steve’s building.

Steve tsks, even if he’s already pretty cross-faded from the drinks and the joint. Tony smirks in response.

“I need to lie down,” Tony says, walking back inside Steve’s apartment. He was very good at acting like he owned any place he stepped into.

Steve follows and pours each of them a glass of water. “Okay,” he says, drinking it down in one go. He hands the full glass to Tony, who takes a sip as he undoes his tie; Steve tries not to stare.

Tony walks into Steve’s bedroom before Steve, yawning before lying down.

This isn’t new, either. Lying awake on each other’s beds, sometimes talking, but most of the time, not. What is new is Tony turning towards Steve and sliding an arm under his neck, pulling him close.

Steve feels pliant and loose, doesn’t really give a shit about anything so small as a cuddle, if that’s what Tony needs then, okay, okay.

It doesn’t have to _mean_ anything, is all. His mind settles into a pleasant hum of emptiness, savoring the simple physical act of closeness. He tips his head up a little. He misjudges the angle, and their noses brush. Steve looks up at Tony, a little startled, and sucks in a breath when he sees Tony looking back at him, an intense, unreadable look in his gaze.

Tony’s eyes flick down to Steve’s lips, then back up.

Steve breathes.

He’s never been this close to Tony, close enough to see how close his shave is, to feel the faint ghost of Tony’s breath on his chin. Steve blinks, slow, languorous, before moving closer.

Thankfully, Tony meets him halfway.

They kiss gently, in the way only two drunk, stoned people do. Open mouthed and soft, luxuriating in each touch of their lips against each others’. Steve can feel every point of touch between them, can feel the heat emanating from under Tony’s clothes. Tony pushes against him, holds him close, kisses him until Steve groans.

Steve reaches up, fingers skimming Tony’s neck, before slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Tony huffs in response, kissing Steve again, again, again, and when Steve moves to unbutton the next—

Tony jolts up and backs away so quickly he almost falls off the bed.

Steve pushes himself up blearily, trying to get his bearings.

Tony holds his shirt closed, looking wide-eyed.

“What—”

“Steve,” Tony says, sounding out of breath. “Sorry. I just—I have to go.”

“Wait,” Steve sits up properly now, moves to get up, but Tony’s out the door before Steve can get any words together. Still, Steve tries, runs out the door after him and catches Tony standing in the elevator lobby, shoes in hand.

“What the fuck,” Steve manages. He feels half-sober, now, painfully so. It’s like he’s drunk and hungover at once, and rejected on top of everything.

“I can’t,” Tony says, not meeting his gaze. “Sorry.”

Steve rolls his eyes and sighs. “For god’s sake, Tony. Come back inside and put your shoes on there.”

Tony blinks at him.

Steve looks at him, then massages his temples. “I’m not going to let you leave in your socks. Come on. Have some water.”

They walk back to Steve’s apartment quietly, and Tony frowns at the glass Steve hands him.

“Are you for real?” Tony asks, sounding surprised.

Steve sits down and sighs. He drinks from his own glass before answering. “You can just tell me if you don’t like me, I can take it,” he says. For a brief moment, he goes back to what was happening barely an hour ago—minutes ago, even. Strange, how life is.

Tony sits down across him and sighs. He buttons up his shirt and downs the rest of his water.

“It’s not that.”

Steve raises his eyebrows, waiting.

Tony rests his head in his hands and sighs.

“How long have we known each other?” he asks.

“What?”

“Few years now, right?”

“Why does it matter?”

Tony bites his lip and looks away. Steve returns to massaging his temples.

“I am too fucking drunk for this,” Tony says, his voice just above a whisper.

Steve snorts. “Join the club.” Despite his words, he wants to touch Tony so badly it feels like an ache, but it doesn’t feel very appropriate.

Tony looks back at Steve, frowning.

“You know, I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

The words punch the air out of Steve. “What?” He recovers then adds, “I mean, me too, but.” He looks away, then looks back at Tony, feeling out of his depth.

Tony purses his lips, then sighs. “I knew getting drinks with you was a bad idea,” he murmurs.

Steve shakes his head. “You always go too hard.” Then the realization hits him: he knows for a fact that Tony only ever does this when they're together. It’s never been explicit, never discussed or planned ahead, but in the times they’ve spent with other people, Tony’s as in-control as usual.

It’s only when it’s just the two of them that Tony drops the act.

“What is it?” Steve asks. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Tony frowns some more, then takes a deep breath. “I know this is going to sound crazy. But bear with me.”

Steve nods slowly in response, dubious and a little worried.

Tony slowly unbuttons his shirt, and Steve realizes he’s holding his breath. He gasps when Tony undoes the fourth, then the fifth, pulling at the hem to show his chest—and what’s embedded in it.

“I—“ Steve says, his brain failing to come up with any thought other than loud screeching. “What?”

Tony looks up at him. “I’m Iron Man.”

Steve sputters. “No you’re not.”

“What?”

“You—I. What? How? When? What is that?” The questions tumble out of him and Steve has to consciously loosen his grip on the table.

“It’s reactor tech,” Tony says. “It functions like a pacemaker, when I’m not…” he trails off.

“When you’re not Iron Man,” Steve finishes for him. He feels unpleasantly lightheaded. “All this time?”

“I’m sorry—”

This snaps Steve out of his thoughts. “Why?”

“I should have told you sooner, I was such a coward—I just didn’t know, there’s just—”

Through the static noise of his thoughts, Steve notices that he’s never heard Tony speak so haltingly. He reaches over and takes Tony’s hand, caring for him coming as second nature at this point. “You don’t have to be sorry. I don’t know if I would have told you, either, if I was in your place.”

Tony’s staring at his hand, nestled in Steve’s palm. “You’re not mad?”

Steve reaches over again, this time to tilt Tony’s head up to meet his gaze. “Of course not.”

“But I might be,” he adds, smiling a little encouragingly at Tony. “If you don’t let me kiss you.”

A small, slow, shy smile blooms on Tony’s lips. “Good thing I’d like you to keep kissing me,” he says softly.

Steve stands up from his chair, leans over, and pulls Tony close. Through the haze of it all—the swirling effects of liquor and drugs, the surprise, still, of Tony’s confessions—the real revelation comes in the way Tony’s lips feel against his, quiet as a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](https://firebrands.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/firebrandss)!


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